


Something that I already said

by simpforsokka



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), College, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:54:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28578561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simpforsokka/pseuds/simpforsokka
Summary: Not until Oikawa tilted his head and began to sing, gaze heavy enough to pin him to the soft leather couch, did Hajime realize just how fucked he was.orEveryone is disgustingly in love and too stupid to realize it. One night at Makki and Mattsun's changes that.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 14
Kudos: 215





	Something that I already said

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time ever actually following through with one of my ideas and attempting to write a story, so I apologize in advance if you find some flaws (especially since I wrote most of this during a manic episode on a six hour flight). I'm not sure if anyone will actually read this, but if you do, I really hope you enjoy it! I kind of hate it, but it made me happy so I though I'd share (it's basically just all of my favorites getting together hehe). Feel free to comment if you have any criticisms or suggestions, or if you just want be my friend!!
> 
> Also there is so much swearing and I am only slightly sorry.
> 
> The song is "Lovers Rock" by TV Girl and it is fucking fantastic.

“No.”

“Iwa-Chan _please!”_ Arms snaked around his neck, suffocating, annoying, and not entirely unwelcome. Soft brown hair nestled perfectly into the crook of his neck. Hajime ignored it.

“No.”

The ensuing whine hit an ear-piercing pitch. “But _w_ _hy?_ ”

“I already told you.” Reluctantly, he shoved Oikawa off, frowning at the sudden cold. “I’m exhausted.” Oikawa rolled his eyes dramatically as he settled on the other side of the couch. “And I don’t want to get vomited on. _Again_.”

“Oh my _God_ Iwa-Chan, you seriously need to get over that. It was one time.” He pouted, brown eyes shining playfully in the dim light of the living room. He looked fucking adorable. It was disgusting. 

Hajime responded with a glare, though he knew the viciousness of the look severely lacked intensity, “Is one time not enough?”

With a sigh, Oikawa stretched back, arms flexing as he reached for the ceiling. Fuck. Hajime squirmed uncomfortably. It seemed cruel, he thought, that such a simple act left him practically speechless. Pale skin and taut muscles peeked out from above the gray waistband of his sweats. A faint line of hair trailed down the sliver of skin toward the sharp jut of hip bones that Hajime _should not_ be looking at. Face flaming, he forced his gaze back to the TV. 

“I’m not sure why you’re complaining, Iwa-Chan, I know plenty of people that would love to be in your situation. You’ve been _blessed_ by my bodily secretions and you know it _-_ ” Hajime reached over to smack him upside the head. 

“Don’t be gross, Assikawa.” 

“It is physically impossible for me to be gross-OW! Stop hitting me!”

Hajime fought a smile, turning his attention back to the TV. On the other side of the couch, Oikawa sniffled loudly. 

He had his own reasons for not going, ones that he would never dare speak out loud. Attending the party meant drowning himself in alcohol as Oikawa gave out kisses like free stickers. It meant desperately trying to piece together the shards of his heart for the 100th time. Going to the party meant facing the sad truth of rejection. And goddamn did it hurt. 

But like most of Hajime’s concerns, it didn’t matter in the wide world of Oikawa Tooru. They both knew he would go. They had known since Oikawa mentioned the party earlier that week, an excited smile and wicked gleam brightening his features. That was how it always went with them. 

Because Oikawa Tooru was Oikawa Tooru. And Iwaizumi Hajime was hopelessly in love. 

  
  


\-------

  
  


This was going to be a disaster. Hajime could feel it in his bones. 

Even from the outside, he could see that the building was _pulsating_ , heavy vibrations falling in tune with the hum of music. A thick crowd of people filtered through the front door. Dimly, he recognized a few faces from class. Laughter and conversation drifted steadily across the front lawn, barely a whisper compared to the booming speakers. Through the window, Hajime could make out someone dancing on a table. He grimaced, though he wasn’t entirely surprised. Makki and Mattsun were anything but subtle when it came to parties. Silently, he mourned his future self and the hangover that would undoubtedly plague him. 

Oikawa, of course, expressed only delight. He stared up at the bustling apartment with gleaming eyes and a devilish grin. He winked, “Oh this is going to be fun Iwa-Chan.” Hajime swiped at his head and missed. 

Side by side, they slipped through the front door, faces scrunching up at the thick wave of heat and humidity that greeted them. Hajime squinted into the apartment warily. It was small, a cramped flat composed of a living room-in which Hajime and Oikawa currently stood-bathroom, and kitchen, as well as two puny bedrooms hidden above a narrow set of stairs. Makki and Mattsun, ever the party-animals, had long ago invested in LED lights and galaxy lamps, and the tiny space they had looked rather wild, much like the two fuckers themselves. 

As if summoned by Hajime’s thoughts, Makki and Mattsun-who apparently had nothing better to do at their own party than stand by the door waiting to ambush Hajime and Oikawa-materialized in front of them. “Ayy, it’s Shittykawa and _Iwa-Chan_!” 

Hajime sighed. Not even five minutes into the party and he was already flipping people off. Wonderful. 

Matsun frowned blandly, “Is that any way to greet the host?” He had one elbow propped on Makki’s shoulder, fingers casually tracing circles on his chest. In his other hand, he held a nearly empty solo cup. 

Beside him, Makki looked just as unimpressed. “Certainly not.” he drawled, “All the other guests have begged to be let in.” Oikawa rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to add a (probably narcissistic) retort.

Mattsun beat him to it, “Oh Makki, you know Oikawa will only get on his knees for our dear _Iwa-Chan_ here.” Oikawa choked on his words, coughing violently next to Hajime, who stood frozen, face burning even in the dim light. What the fuck was _that_ supposed to mean-

“Hey, hey hey!” A mass of grey and black slammed into them from behind, arms extending over Hajime and Oikawa’s shoulders. The smell of beer was suddenly inescapable. “Look who finally showed up!”

Hajime chuckled before detaching himself from the other man. “Hey Bokuto.” He glanced at the party, already in full swing. “What’d we miss?” 

Apparently the question, as simple as he had posed it, hit a nerve. Simultaneously, Makki and Mattsun groaned before linking arms and chugging their cups in what Hajime vaguely recognized as a Bruderschaft. Bokuto, on the other hand, deflated substantially and frowned down at the floor. “Nothing. You missed _nothing._ ” He pouted, “Akaashi isn't even here yet.” 

_Ah._ He should have known. In a situation that felt far too similar to Hajime’s own life to be comfortable, Bokuto had been in love with his best friend for roughly three years now. Unlike Hajime however, he was both painfully obvious about his affection and painfully oblivious to the fact that his feelings were reciprocated. It was fucking frustrating to say the least.

“Well,” Oikawa cut in, clearly attempting to distract Bokuto from his sorrow. “now that I’m here, you at least have one pretty setter to fawn over!” He brought his hands up under his chin and released a dazzling smile that would have blinded Hajime had he not had previous exposure. It was enough, however, to kill the eye roll he had been working up to, if only because he didn’t want to look away.

Bokuto was unfazed, looking perhaps even more uncertain than before, “I mean I don’t really think-” 

_Fuck._

Hajime interrupted before _that_ train could fly off its rails and wreck the night, “Who else is here?” He scanned the apartment, “Anyone we’d know?”

Bokuto perked up immediately, golden eyes flashing excitedly as they darted around the room. Hajime watched in fascination as his hair grew a solid two inches. “Kuroo! Kuroo is here!” He beamed at the other men, as though this was the most wonderful development. “And he’s also sad,” he pouted dramatically, “but about Kenma, you know? So we are drinking away our sorrows together!” Mattsun nodded in approval. 

Kuroo slithered between Bokuto and Oikawa, throwing a casual arm over the latter. He purred, “You called?”

Mattsun cut in, as blunt and monotone as ever, “We were just talking about how depressed you are over Kenma.”

The effect was immediate, though Kuroo clearly did his best to conceal it. He shrank back, grin dropping into a grimace before reluctantly forcing itself into a taut line. “Sorry Mattsun dear, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Hajime had to applaud his determination. 

From beside Kuroo, Oikawa sighed, “Relax, we all know you want to fuck Kenma.”

A fiery blush spread across Kuroo’s neck, creeping its way toward his face. It looked entirely foreign on the man, who usually had exactly zero shame. He stood in shock for a moment, mouth hanging open dumbly before stuttering indignantly, “I don’t-that’s not-even if I-” he crossed his arms angrily, “Yeah? Well we _all_ know you want to fuck-”

_Oh._ Hajime did not want to hear about that. 

In a blur of speed, Oikawa’s elbow engraved itself into Kuroos’ stomach. The taller man wailed, clutching at his torso, “What the fuck!” He whirled on Bokuto, “You fucker! You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

Bokuto looked crestfallen, “I didn’t! I swear I don’t know-”

Hajime snorted, “As though it wasn’t completely obvious.”

“Shut up! As though _you_ aren’t completely obvious about-OW” He let out another cry as Hajime silenced him with a fist to the stomach. “Everyone needs to STOP hitting me!” Hajime glared, trying not to panic. As though Kuroo didn’t deserve a little pain for that little stunt. 

Swallowing hard, Hajime dared a glance in Oikawa’s direction, horrified to find the other man already looking at him, a slight blush on his cheeks. His eyes shone black, heavy with an expression unreadable in the dim light of the party. They darted away as soon as Hajime noticed. 

_Was he really that obvious?_

“Whatever. Maybe-” Kuroo slumped against Bokuto’s shoulder with a sniffle. “ _Maybe,_ I do. So fucking what?” For fucks sake. Hajime restrained an eye roll for what felt like the fifth time that night. 

“Relax,” he reached over to pat the other man awkwardly on the back. “all you have to do is tell him how you feel. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way, it’s just Kenma, it won’t change anything.” There was an uncomfortable silence as both Kuroo and Hajime took in the irony of such a statement. He blinked, suddenly far too warm. When did the room get so goddamn _hot._

Kuroo was unsympathetic. With a wide smirk, he raised an eyebrow, “Do I even need to say it-DON’T HURT ME” he dodged Hajime’s raised fist, curling in closer to Bokuto who eyed Hajime’s hand warily. 

From the right, Makki sighed, face blank. “It’s really not that complicated, honestly.” Four heads swiveled in his direction. “Just slowly seduce him with your irresistible ass and perfect features.” He shrugged. “Worked for me.”

“Or give him a blowjob after practice.” Mattsun cut in with a lazy grin. “Worked for me.”

He and Makki clinked cups. Assholes. 

“What did you just say to me?” A sharp voice sliced through the hum of the party. Hajime swiveled in its direction with a grimace. _Fuck._ Across the room stood a frowning Kyoutani, fists clenched at his sides as he glared down at a shorter man. His face was contorted in a dangerous growl, sweatshirt stained red from some sort of drink. The other man swayed on his feet, clearly plastered. 

“I said,” he burped loudly, “wash where yer goin or next time I’ll do it on purpose.” Kyoutani glowered, clearly not expecting such a blunt response. The drunk man glared right back, his fist raising-

Oh _fuck_ this would not end well.

“Kyoutani!” both men jolted and turned to look at who had called out. When his eyes found Hajime, Kyoutani frowned deeper and straightened up, reluctantly stepping back from the shorter man. Hajime breathed a sigh of relief and waved him over. Dark eyes trained firmly on his feet, the younger boy made his way over. 

“He started it” Kyoutani huffed after halting just outside their circle. 

Hajime sighed. He didn’t doubt it. Kyoutani was a good kid, no matter what people said. In all their time together as both teammates and friends, Hajime had only known him to willingly start two fights, both of which involved the actions of known bullies.

“I know, don’t worry. Just trying to help you out.” He’d always felt particularly responsible for Kyoutani, especially after learning that the younger man regarded him as some sort of role model. “How’s the night been?”

Kyoutani hunched further over himself. “Fine.” His eyes darted around the room, as though scanning for threats. “It’s been ok-” he froze, eyes pausing on something across the room. Hajime frowned. Was he _blushing_? “Um,” Kyoutani choked out, expression intense, “I need a drink.” With that, he hurried away, shoving past a few disgruntled party-goers. 

_That was fucking weird._ Hajime searched the area he had been looking at. Besides a few very questionable _Makki-and-Mattsun_ esque posters, nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary. He dismissed it and began to turn back toward the group.

Slender arms snaked around his neck, halting him in place and enveloping him in the very familiar and always welcome scent of Oikawa Tooru. He allowed himself to relax into the embrace, just for a moment. A soft heat pressed into his shoulder as the face of both his dreams and his nightmares appeared beside his head. 

“What’s got Kyouken so hot and bothered?” Their bodies pressed together. Back to chest. Cheek to cheek. Hajime wondered if Oikawa could feel his heart slamming in its cage. 

“He saw you coming and fled.” He could kiss him. It would be so easy. 

“Iwa-Chan!” A soft whisper, “Impossible.” Warm breath danced across his cheek. Had his eyes always been this big and brown? “No, I bet he saw that tall drink of water chatting up our Yahaba over there and got angry.” 

Wait. What? 

Oikawa continued, oblivious to Hajime’s confusion. “Poor Kyouken, he really needs to work things out with Yahaba or it’s going to eat him up.”

“Hold on.” Hajime shoved away from Oikawa, his confusion momentarily overcoming his blissful state. Oikawa pouted. “You mean to say Kyoutani is what- _in love_ with Yahaba?” Oikawa nodded, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. Hajime wanted to strangle him. “But he-but they _hate_ each other!”

Oikawa rolled his eyes with a dismissive wave, “Iwa-Chan, please. Ever heard of ‘enemies to lovers?’ What about ‘sexual tension?’” He studied his nails, “Honestly, it’s so obvious to everyone but them.” he glanced at Hajime before fixing him with a smirk, “And Iwa-Chan!”

Hajime clenched his fists, willing himself not to physically harm the man in front of him. “Whatever.” It took significant effort to turn back to the group. He needed a drink.

Thankfully, it seemed Sugawara had shown up at some point with cups and multiple bottles of vodka. Hajime grinned, gratefully downing a few shots with the rest of them, eager to forget the seemingly endless relationship problems that plagued him and his friends. 

Beside him, Oikawa happily conversed with the other setter. “Refreshing-Kun! How are things with Sawamura!” He waggled his eyebrows expectantly.

Sugawara smirked, though the light blush on his cheeks gave him away, “We actually just became official. What about you and-” He spotted something across the room and laughed, “Yamaguchi! C’mere!”

Hajime turned to see Yamaguchi freeze in his place and flush a dangerous shade of red. Smiling shyly, he made his way over, awkwardly slipping past a very flustered Asahi, though the larger man was far too busy batting Nishinoya’s fingers away from his belt to notice. 

Yamaguchi approached hesitantly, “H-hi Senpai!” Dear God was he _trembling?_ Hajime grimaced. The poor boy looked scared out of his mind. 

Sugawara chuckled lightly and ruffled his hair, “I didn’t know you were coming out tonight! Is Tsukishima here too?”

Bokuto and Kuroo burst into the conversation. “Tsukki’s here?” They looked expectantly at Yamaguchi, who shrank into the shadows. 

“Um,” he stared down at his hands, “well I tried to get him to come, but he didn’t-well he had other things to do tonight and-and I thought maybe I would come without him and try to have fun, but now I don’t know-” He yelped as Bokuto clapped a hand on the back with a brilliant grin. 

“Hell no!” Even Hajime winced. Damn could Bokuto be loud. “You’re one of the boys tonight Yamaguchi!”

Somewhere behind Hajime, Oikawa snickered, “Was he not one of the boys before?” Hajime threw his elbow back viciously, repressing a smile when he heard a satisfying squawk of pain. 

“So,” Kuroo sauntered over to Yamaguchi, his smile devious, “any interest in throwing back some shots with us?” He held up two solo cups as Makki and Mattsun gleefully hooted from a few feet away. 

Somehow, the kid looked even more terrified than before. Thankfully, Sugawara stepped in. Placing a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder, he smiled softly, “Don’t listen to them, you can still have fun without drinking if you want.” 

Yamaguchi swallowed hard before seemingly making up his mind. He shook his head. “No-no I think I’d like to.” 

Sugawara’s eyebrows shot up, but he only grinned wider. “Well,” he raised his own cup in a salute with a devilish wink, “won’t argue with that. Cheers Yamaguchi, let’s have a wild fucking night.” Hajime followed suit, downing his own cup with the others. Dimly, he recognized that the atmosphere had become thicker. Everything seemed so much simpler-so much more muffled than before. Surrounded by friends, he felt happy. Well, almost. Where _the fuck_ was that shit-head?

Taking another sip he craned his head in search of messy brown hair. Instead, he found himself face to face with Kageyama. He blinked. “Oh, hello.”

Blue eyes shot toward him in alarm. Clearly the dark haired boy had been trying to slip by unnoticed. “Hi.” 

“Tobio!” Oikawa sauntered up to them, beaming at the younger setter. He stumbled, catching himself on Hajime’s shoulder with a cheery laugh. Slender fingers traced their way up to Hajime’s hair and tugged affectionately. Beneath his shirt, Hajime’s heart fought to break free from his chest. 

_He doesn’t mean it._ He reminded himself. _He’s always been touchy with everyone, not just you._

“Kageyama!” Tanaka barreled into their huddle with unnecessary force, hand immediately reaching over to ruffle the taller boy’s hair. “What’s up Kohai? Where’s Hinata?”

Kageyama glowered, “How should I know? It’s not like we’re-” his cheeks erupted into a deep blush and he hid under his hair. “I mean-it’s not-we aren’t-He’s with Kenma.” he sputtered hastily. Hajime held back a chuckle. Talk about tightly wound. 

Kuroo emerged from the shadows, feigned nonchalance painted across his features. “Kenma’s here?” He peered at Kageyama, who spared him only a shrug.

“I guess not.” Kageyama mumbled, watching curiously as Kuroo sighed and proceeded to chug the remnants of his cup. “Hinata said he was helping him with something before the party.” He glared at the ground. “I thought they’d be here by the time I showed up.”

Oikawa hummed knowingly, leaning closer to Hajime. “Would you look at that,” he sang in a voice far too loud to be subtle, “our little Tobio has a cru-” Hajime slammed his foot down over Oikawa’s before he could finish. “ _Fuck,_ Iwa-Chan, OW! That actually hurt and you know it!” Hajime sneered, both relieved and disappointed when Oikawa detached himself from his shoulder. He needed a chance to clear his head anyway, something that could not be done with Oikawa breathing down his neck. 

“Yeah, yeah-” glancing to his right, Hajime stopped dead in his tracks. Kuroo had frozen midstep, eyes pinned on something near the door with an expression of both horror and fear. Even in the colored lights of the party, his skin looked deathly pale. “Oh my fucking God” he whispered. 

It wasn’t until Hajime turned around that he understood. _Holy fucking shit._

Standing in the doorway was Hinata, looking as bubbly and charming as ever. A wide smile stretched across his face, playful and proud and fucking adorable. But that’s not what had Kuroo enraptured. No. Beyond the mess of orange hair stood Kenma, who- _damn._ Hajime swallowed hard. Along with his usual bored expression and slight frown, Kenma wore a large maroon sweater and a pleated black skirt that revealed pale, slender, thighs. In his hair sat two matching red clips. 

No wonder Kuroo looked like he’d seen a ghost. The poor man had probably ascended to heaven. Hajime frowned. Or hell. If Oikawa had worn a skirt- _nope, don’t think about that_. He shoved the image out of his head before it could do any damage, instead focusing on the two boys in front of him.

Hinata bounced up to their group expectantly. “Hi guys!” His eyes darted between Kenma and Kuroo, the latter of which had yet to move any part of his body or face. Kenma trailed after his orange haired friend, somehow looking both extremely bored and wildly uncomfortable with the attention he was receiving. 

“Kenma!” Bokuto appeared next to Kuroo. “I’m digging the look! Fucking fantastic!” He slammed his hand down onto Kuroo’s shoulder. The taller man practically leapt out of his skin, face turning a hideous shade of red that matched Kenma’s sweater perfectly. Hajime fought a laugh _._ Kuroo was fucking _whipped_ . Bokuto continued his rambling with a wild gesture to the skirt, “I mean what I wouldn’t give to see _Akaashi_ in a skirt. Can you even _imagine?_ -” he choked. “Er-I meant like an apron-no-like a kilt or-” he threw his hands up in frustration, “never mind.” 

Kenma didn’t seem to mind the taller man’s discomfort, though his shoulders relaxed minutely. He peered up with a blank look. “Thanks, I think.” Ignoring the flush that flooded Bokuto’s face, Kenma slid himself next to Kuroo. 

Oikawa glared down at the skirt. “Don’t get me wrong Kenma, you look fucking _phenomenal_ and I would like to see this look much more often,” he turned toward the rest of them, “but where the _fuck_ was this energy when I wore a skirt?”

Hajime’s brain short circuited. _What_.

Bokuto scratched his head in confusion, “I don’t really remember you doing that.” Behind him, Makki choked on his drink, sputtering as he let out a delighted cackle. 

Hajime blinked. _OikawainaskirtOikawainaskirtOikawainaskirt-_

Oikawa’s eyes twitched. “You don’t REMEMBER?” He screeched. 

Makki began to wheeze, hands clutching at his stomach. Beside him, Mattsun snorted, “Of course he doesn’t remember, you spent the whole night whining about how-”

“Hold on.” Hajime interrupted, desperate to return to _square fucking one_. “You wore a skirt?” Makki howled, collapsing against Mattsun. Oikawa shot the pink-haired boy a dark look before crossing his arms and nodding primly. Suddenly he looked far too vulnerable, too shy for the night’s chaos. Hajime pushed the thought away. “Where the fuck was I?”

Makki, who had started to wipe tears from his eyes, slapped his hand to his mouth, barely muffling another fit of laughter. He clutched at Mattsun, who was snickering silently beside him. Blessedly, the rest of them seemed just as confused as Hajime. They watched the scene unfold with varying degrees of interest. Kuroo, of course, had simply left this earth, and appeared content to stare at Kenma’s ass for all of eternity. 

Hajime ignored them all, focusing instead on the boy across from him, who seemed determined not to make eye contact. Dimly, he was aware that he was being dramatic. But fuck that. He could be as dramatic as he wanted. Because what the actual _fuck_ had he been doing that had been so important he’d missed Oikawa traipsing around in a skirt. I mean _how_ had he missed those legs- _oh my God._ He nearly cried in frustration. The universe must be fucking with him. Frustrated, he gestured at Oikawa expectantly.

The setter huffed and waved him away, “Whatever,” he mumbled, “It was-” _was he blushing?_ “It was during that party last month. The one you missed cuz you hit a deer on your way over.” 

_Oh_. 

Hajime remembered that party, or at least that night. He’d been on his way to Kuroo’s when the poor animal had leapt in front of his car. He shuddered. The whole fucking ordeal had been terrible, and he’d spent the night shamefully holding back tears as he waited for animal control to arrive. The fucking deer had ended up being fine, thank God, and Oikawa had mocked his tear stained face when he’d returned to their apartment hours later. But still. Oikawa hadn’t been wearing a fucking skirt. He must have changed before Hajime got home. 

Hajime wanted to strangle someone. 

He returned his gaze to Oikawa angrily, though his furious words died immediately on his tongue. Oikawa peered at him almost nervously, “Why do you want to know so bad anyway? Do you-” he studied his nails, “do you think it’s weird or something?”

Suddenly his behavior made sense. Was he actually that stupid? Hajime nearly hit him over the head again. Not nearly. Hajime did hit him over the head again. “What the fuck Shittykawa! Of course not, you idiot!” 

Oikawa frowned, though he seemed to relax, “Then why?” 

_Shit._

Hajime cleared his throat. “Uh-” What the fuck was he supposed to say? “Well I just-” A blush fought its way up his neck and cheeks. “I think you’d look-” Oikawa was grinning now, damn him, brown eyes wide and expectant. “Well you have nice legs-” _Nonononono._ He winced as Oikawa beamed. That was _not_ what he’d been trying to say. “Er-” Taking a deep breath, he tried to salvage the scraps of his dignity, “Dumbass. You’d look cool.” 

Cautiously, he glanced at Oikawa’s face. It was a mistake. The brown haired boy looked on the verge of tears, a wobbly smile pulled precariously at his lips. He sniffled loudly. Before Hajime could flee, Oikawa lunged forward, tackling him under the weight of a 6’0” child. “Iwa-Chan!”

“Get- _off_ , idiot!” he tried unsuccessfully to pry Oikawa’s fingers from him. “I swear to fucking _God_ , I’ll stop buying you milk bread if you don’t get away from me!” 

“Liar!” Oikawa cried, “You wouldn’t dare!” He clung to Hajime tighter before announcing proudly, “Iwa-Chan thinks I have nice legs!” He cackled happily as Hajime swung at his head and missed. 

Somewhere to their left Makki snorted, “Yeah, no shit.”

Oh for fucks sake. Was the _universe_ out to get him tonight?

Finally, he managed to wrench himself from Oikawa’s clutches, delivering a swift punch to the other boy’s stomach. Unfortunately, his fist failed to eliminate Oikawa’s smirk, which he doubted he would ever be free from after that conversation. Straightening himself out, he turned to find the other men still watching them in amusement. Embarrassment rolled over him in waves. Had they really witnessed that whole exchange? 

He was interrupted from telling them to politely fuck off by Kageyama, who whirled on Hinata with a deep frown. “Why the fuck didn’t you wear a skirt?” He glared down at the younger boy, who, to his credit, responded only with a confused cock of his head. 

“Why would I?”

_Ah._

And just like that, Kageyama walked into the same trap Hajime had fallen prey to not mere minutes prior. He seemed to realize it too, blushing hard as he struggled to come up with an excuse. “I don’t know, dumbass!”

Feeling sorry for the kid (and bitter that no one had helped him out), Hajime spoke up. “Continuity?” he offered. 

Kageyama flailed his arms desperately, “Yeah, that! Continuity!” his eyes darted between Hinata and his shoes. “Wear it-” he coughed, “for continuity.”

Hinata either didn’t notice his friend’s momentary crisis or chose to ignore it. With a grin, he shrugged. “Ok! Next time I’ll wear a skirt! Just for you!” Somehow, Kageyama’s blush deepened. “And for continuity!”

Mattsun materialized next to Hajime. “Good lord,” he mumbled, “and I thought you were a mess.” Hajime responded with an elbow to his gut. 

Makki emerged beside Mattsun with a frown, “Stop beating up my lover or you’ll miss the show.”

“The show?” Hajime turned to find Kuroo in the exact same position as before. The only apparent development was that he now refused to even look at Kenma, who had turned to talk to him. Hajime groaned. Someone needed to help that poor man out. 

“Don’t worry.” Hinata glanced at them before flashing a devious smile. “Kenma’s got it all under control.”

_Fuck._

Kuroo Tetsurou was a dead man walking. 

  
  


\-------

  
  


“Mean Iwa-Chan!” 

Hajime cackled, dodging a half hearted smack. “I’m just telling you the truth Shittykawa.”

“Milk bread eaters are not 10 times more likely to go bald before the age of 30! Stop spreading lies!” Even in the dim light of the halfway, he could see Oikawa frown at the carpet, toffee hair falling over his eyes. It looked so much longer now, after the heat of the party had forced the dark strands out of their usual position atop his head. Desperately, Hajime wondered what it would feel like to run his finger through those strands. He shoved the thought out of his head before it could do further damage to his heart. 

“Don’t hate the messenger.” He forced himself to grin. They only had so much time- _he_ only had so much time before Oikawa left to pursue some other person for the night. He wanted to take pleasure in the moment-in Oikawa’s presence-if only briefly. 

They stood facing each other, red solo cups in hand, backs pressed against opposite walls. Slender hands fell indignantly on Oikawa’s hips, a frown tugging at his pink lips. Beyond the walls a muffled tune could be heard, background noise to their own little world. 

It was moments like this that made his love painful to the point of regret. He reveled in Oikawa’s attention. He got drunk off the giggle in Oikawa’s laugh. Above all, he bathed in the beauty of Oikawa’s real smile.

It was a small comfort to know he was one of the few that got to see it. 

Abruptly, he realized he was still staring at Oikawa’s lips. Swallowing hard, he fought a blush. Oikawa studied him with an odd expression, “Iwa-Chan-”

“Liar!” The door down the hall burst open, revealing a messy mop of orange hair and almond eyes. “You got _what_ on the final?.”

A scoff drifted through the doorway, followed closely by a looming mass of black locks and a fierce glare. “I got an _easy_ 78%.” Hinata shrieked in despair as Kageyama smirked down at him. Neither of them had noticed the other two men yet. 

Oikawa turned back to Hajime with a grin, “Watch this.” There was a maniacal look in his eyes, a spark of mischief that did not bode well for either Kageyama or Hinata. _Oh God._

“Oikawa-”

Too late. In an obnoxiously loud voice Oikawa announced, “Well I don’t know Iwa-Chan, I think I’m going to have to go with Shrimpy for this one.”

Two pairs of eyes swiveled toward them, wide and curious. The dark haired setter frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Oikawa gasped dramatically, a hand flying to his mouth. “Oh dear, did I say that too loud?” Hajime resisted the urge to slap him. “Nevermind, just ignore that!”

The two freshmen eyed each other suspiciously before prowling closer. Hinata cocked his head to the side, “Pick me for what Senpai?” His gaze bore into Oikawa, wide and unblinking. _Jesus_ , this kid was intense. 

Kageyama scoffed, “Probably for ‘stupidest person in the apartment.’” With a squawk, Hinata whirled on the taller boy. 

“Even if that’s what he meant, which it _isn’t_ , that would still put you at a close second, dumbass!” 

Kageyama flushed, “Still better than you, _idiot!_ ”

Laughing, Oikawa waved his hand dismissively “Oh it’s nothing like that, calm down. We were just-” He giggled, shooting a glance at Hajime. He glared back. _Whatever you’re going to say, don’t fucking say it Assikawa._ “We were just discussing who we think would be the better kisser.”

Fuck his crush. Hajime was going to kill Oikawa. Tonight was the night. 

The two boys stared at him, mouths hanging open. A light blush crept up Hinata’s neck. “You-Huh?”

“Well we were just talking about the people we’ve hooked up with at the party,” Hajime was going to _annihilate_ this piece of shit, “and then we got to talking about kissing, and then we started _ranking_ , and from there it just sort of-” 

“And you chose _Hinata?”_ Kageyama was aghast now, anger mixing with embarrassment to create a dull red on his skin. 

Hinata, on the other hand, was grinning, a smug smile dancing across his lips. He turned to Kageyema with his chest puffed out. “Well I do have _quite_ a bit of experience. Much more than you, I’m sure.”

For a moment the setter’s glare dimmed, his features falling into something that looked suspiciously like hurt. “Oh, r-really?” Hinata’s chest deflated a little. “I mean-” Kageyama coughed, “You’re wrong. I am a _much_ better kisser.” He stared hard at the ground, “Dumbass.”

_God_ could they really be that oblivious?

“Well!” Oikawa interrupted happily, “There’s only one way to find out!” The two stared at him blankly, eyes wide as saucers. Oikawa sighed and gestured between them expectantly. A beat of silence. They reached the conclusion at the same time, erupting into sputters of denial and bright red faces.

“You mean-”

“Are you saying-”

“With _him?”_

“I don’t think-”

“I mean I _would_ win, but-”

Kageyama whirled on the shorter boy, “No you wouldn’t.” They glared at each other, gazes fierce with competition. Standing up a little straighter, Hinata crossed his arms indignantly. 

“I most certainly would.”

“Oh please, I am the _best_ kisser.”

“Prove it.”

For a moment neither moved, the air thick and expectant between them. Hajime briefly wondered if the young setter had chickened out. But then Kageyama was lunging forward, fist grabbing hold of Hinata’s shirt. He smashed their lips together violently. Hinata responded immediately, a gasp escaping from his mouth as his fingers wove their way into the taller boy’s hair. They stumbled backwards until Hinata was pressed against the wall. Kageyama reached down to pick him up, pulling short legs securely around his waist.

_Um._ This was… intense. 

Face burning, Hajime peeled his eyes away. “Well,” Oikawa smirked, “I think that’s our queue Iwa-Chan.” He downed his shot, laughing smugly before snatching Hajime’s wrist to drag him back toward the party. 

  
  


\-------

  
  


As it turned out, Kenma’s idea of “having it all under control” meant shamelessly seducing Kuroo into a vegetable state. 

The two were sitting on Makki and Mattsun’s couch, legs and shoulders pressed together despite Kuroo’s obvious best efforts. The larger man had flattened himself against the armrest in a clear attempt to escape the situation, his fists clenched around the fabric. For someone who referred to himself as “The Great Seductor” he appeared comically stressed out. To his left sat Kenma, who peered up at him with eyes far too wide and gleaming to be considered innocent. He was perched on his knees, one arm resting casually on Kuroo’s shoulder, the other on his thigh. Based on Kuroo’s terrified expression, Kenma might as well have pointed a gun at his head. 

Clearly, Oikawa had a similar thought. Slipping his fingers from around Hajime’s wrist and instead sliding them into his hand, he sauntered toward the couch. “C’mon Iwa-Chan!” he whispered sneakily, “I wanna have front row seats!”

Before Hajime could argue, Oikawa had shoved him into the space next to Kenma with an aggressive “Oof” and draped himself across the other armrest. Kenma spared them a dark glare, the intensity of which only increased when Oikawa responded with an excited wave. He mouthed, “Don’t mind us!”

“Haven’t you had enough drama for one night!” Hajime growled under his breath, wishing he were literally anywhere else on the planet than beside Kenma as he seduced Kuroo into oblivion. 

Oikawa seemed unbothered. “Oh you mean because of our little Tobio and Shrimpy?” Kenma’s head swiveled in their direction with a frown. Oikawa smiled slyly, “Don’t worry Kenma dear, thanks to me, your beloved orange friend no longer has to worry about his unresolved feelings!” Though he looked highly skeptical, Kenma returned his attention to Kuroo, who appeared to be making a break for it. 

Had _everyone_ known about Hinata and Kageyama before him?

Suddenly feeling wildly out of the loop, Hajime glared down at the coffee table. “Anything else I should know about?” he growled before downing his drink. 

Oikawa glanced at him from above his own cup. “Concerning what exactly?” he responded carefully.

“Any other unrequited loves or up-and-coming confessions I don’t know about?” Through the press of their shoulders, he felt Oikawa stiffen. 

When you exist beside someone for more than a decade, you begin to understand them beyond the frame of words and expressions. Small movements become full sentences, nervous habits illustrations of exposed emotion. The change travels beneath the surface of your awareness, a shift fueled both by dependence and by intrigue. Slowly, the puzzles fall into place, and you find yourself able to translate the words even before they have been spoken. 

So when Oikawa forced his shoulders to relax, Hajime saw his discomfort. And when Oikawa leaned back with a breezy laugh and a casual “Nope!” Hajime heard his desperation. He watched, as he always had, and read the lies that Oikawa refused to acknowledge. 

But of course, when you exist beside someone for more than a decade, they tend to understand you just as well. And Oikawa had always been the more perceptive of the two. 

With a blinding grin that did nothing to prevent Hajime from seeing through his bullshit, Oikawa finished the rest of his drink and leapt off the couch, stumbling only slightly through his haze of alcohol. Hajime grimaced. It wasn’t like they had any obligation to remain sober-As per usual, they’d planned on staying in Makki’s room, which had been empty since he and Mattsun had gotten together-but Hajime had hardly planned on babysitting Oikawa all night. He watched as the taller man steadied himself against another party-goer. A sheepish smile peeked through toffee hair, causing more damage to Hajime’s heart than thousands of hours of volleyball practice ever had. 

He swallowed. Hard. Taking care of Oikawa wasn’t really the problem, he’d done that practically everyday since his first breath and he would continue to do so until his last. Hajime glared at the man clutching Oikawa. The real problem would be surviving the night with his heart intact. 

Somewhere across the room, Bokuto broke through the hum of music, his voice a battering ram against the already deafening tunes. “HEY, HEY, HEY AKAASHI!” Hajime turned in time to see Bokuto launch himself over a keg, a feat immediately celebrated by scooping a comically flustered Akaashi into his thick arms. “I’M SO EXCITED YOU’RE FINALLY HERE!”

The black haired boy allowed himself to be minutely suffocated for a moment before pulling away for air. “Hello Bokuto, I’m excited to be here.” He awarded Bokuto a small upward tilt of his lips. As debatable as such a claim was-Akaashi avoided most of their more crowded parties like the plague-the effect on Bokuto was as immediate and intense as everything that involved Bokuto tended to be. Even from a few feet away, Hajime could see Bokuto visibly inflate with joy. It was a wonder he didn’t explode. 

“It’s gonna be so much fun ‘Kaashi! We can hang out all night and I _have_ to show you this new game I made where you take a shot every time Kenma does something that makes Kuroo flinch!” Blue eyes glanced in the direction of the couch, taking in the situation with a quizzical expression. “It’s ok though don’t worry ‘Kaashi! Kuroo was in a bad mood but he’s fine now. Well, we were both in a bad mood to be honest,” he continued chaotically, clearly unaware that he was joyfully digging his own grave, “but that was only because I was nervous that you were going to be here because-” 

He froze. For a moment, Hajime wondered if for once his blessedly oblivious friend had actually achieved some level of awareness. The thought came crashing down when Bokuto opened his mouth to whisper-at least what Hajime considered to be whispering for Bokuto- “A-are you wearing _eyeliner?_ ”

This time Akaashi froze, his blush deepening to a fierce scarlet that contrasted greatly with his blank expression. “I-” he cleared his throat. Hajime gaped. Was Akaashi-logical, calm, collected, Akaashi- _squirming_? “Yes I am. I wanted to look… nice for the night.” The silence sat heavy then, broken only by the faint beat of music. For what Hajime thought might’ve been the first time in his life, Bokuto was silent, his wide eyes trained squarely on the boy across from him. Akaashi peered right back and spoke again, his voice slightly less confident, “It was a spur of the moment decision and I didn’t have much time for practice, so I’m sure it’s a little uneven. I probably don’t look as-”

_Finally_ Bokuto jolted back to life, the lights in his eyes firing right back up to maximum power. “You look fucking hot ‘Kaashi.” He blurted dumbly. Hajime barely stifled a laugh as Akaashi gaped up at Bokuto in shock. What an absolute trainwreck of a night. He forced his gaze away, ignoring both the shy but genuine smile Akaashi offered to Bokuto and the pang of bitterness that erupted in Hajime’s chest as a result.

“Iwa-Chan!” With a short prayer for his ever-crumbling heart, Hajime returned his gaze to the source of his own romantic struggles. Oikawa had ditched the other party-goer (to Hajime’s pathetic relief) and was spinning gracelessly in what Hajime was sure he thought to be an alluring twirl. “I love this song!”

On unsteady feet he twisted toward Hajime, chestnut eyes seeking umber. Faintly, Hajime recognized the song-an indie tune composed of calm melody. He vaguely recalled Oikawa playing it for him once. 

It wasn’t until Oikawa tilted his head and began to sing, gaze heavy enough to pin Hajime to the soft leather couch, that Hajime realized just how fucked he was. 

_“Are you sick of me?”_

Oikawa swayed with the melody, hips moving in slow circles. Toffee hair tumbled messily across his cheeks. He smiled, eyes never leaving Hajime’s, and Hajime swore his heart burst. 

The world was chocolate brown. How had Hajime never seen it? His world was chocolate brown and he did not wish to ever look away, even if he could. 

_“Would you like to be?”_

There were certain things in life that Hajime knew to be irrefutable. The earth was round. Everyone was going to die eventually. Oikawa Tooru was beautiful. He wondered why anyone would bother trying to deny such certainties, especially when the evidence danced gloriously before him, a breathtaking example of inescapable truths. 

_“I’m tryna tell you something.”_

Oikawa had a halo. It illuminated his features in a purple and blue glow that burned away everything else around them. Or perhaps it was a trick of the lights and Hajime was a fool in love. He didn’t care. All he knew was that Oikawa had a smile on his face-a genuine, crooked smile meant only for Hajime. 

_“Something that I already said.”_

Distantly, Hajime wondered when he had stumbled into a dream. He had almost certainly drifted off, and would soon wake up to an absent Oikawa and a raging headache because that was how his world worked. Because in no reality did Oikawa look at him like _that._ In no reality did chocolate eyes focus on him and him alone in a way that paralyzed his limbs and snatched the air from his lungs. 

And in no _fucking_ reality did Oikawa Tooru step closer like he wanted to bring his lips against Hajime’s. 

_“You like the pretty boys.”_

The room was hot again. It was fucking sweltering, and Hajime couldn’t breathe. He choked on thick air, on droplets of water that caught in his throat. He was drowning. He was drowning and he wanted nothing else than to let himself drown. 

_“With a pretty voice.”_

He watched, transfixed, as a single bead of sweat fell from Oikawa’s sharp jaw. It slid down, down, down, before pooling in the smooth jut of his collarbone, a shimmering trail of liquid in its wake. He wanted to reach out, to bring his lips to that spot and taste it, if only just the once. 

_“Who’s trying to sell you something.”_

Oikawa leaned over him now, slender arms on either side of his shoulders. They had him trapped, and Hajime could have laughed at such pointlessness. As though he wanted to escape. As though he could ever possibly have the strength to look away from the face that had slipped its way into his hopes and dreams and now existed only inches in front of him. 

Desperately, he searched Oikawa for any hint of mockery. It had to be a trick-some sort of bet Oikawa wanted to win. Once again he found himself staring into eyes the color of fresh coffee and coming home, and once again he found his heart stuttering violently in its place. But instead of mischief or malevolence, he came face to face with an expression he couldn’t quite read-one that had his own skin heating with an embarrassed flush. 

_“Something that you already have.”_

They were close. Painfully close. One slight shift on either end and their lips would meet. The thought ricocheted through Hajime’s mind, simultaneously comforting and distressing. He had wanted this for as long as he could remember. His eyes traced Oikawa’s pink lips. For more than a decade he had imagined what they would feel like-what they would taste like. Would they be soft and sweet, fruity like the balms Oikawa loved to hoard? Or would they be rougher, stinging with the mint tang of Oikawa’s favorite chapstick? One shift and he wouldn’t have to wonder. 

He forced his gaze back up to Oikawa’s, shocked to find the other’s man’s stare pinned on his own mouth. Slowly, experimentally, he trailed his tongue across his bottom lip. A fierce blush stained Oikawa’s skin and those glorious brown eyes flickered back up to meet his gaze, flashing dangerously with an emotion Hajime couldn’t bring himself to translate. 

They stared at each other for a second, the silent competition between them almost as powerful as the vulnerability Hajime felt radiating off his face in waves. Now or never. Faintly, he registered a soft breath against his lips. It cascaded across his skin, warm and humid and smelling of-

Hajime blinked. How could he have possibly forgotten. Oikawa was drunk off his mind, and if Hajime knew anything about his best friend, it was that he became almost obnoxiously affectionate when plastered, especially when it came to Hajime. He’d spent countless parties fending off Oikawa’s hugs and pretending he didn’t care when he found himself hunched in a corner watching Oikawa press against a stranger for the night. 

With as much strength as he could manage, Hajime brought his hands up to Oikawa’s shoulders and gently pushed the other man away. He whispered, “Don’t do this Oikawa. Not to me.” He ignored Oikawa’s sharp intake of breath, just as he ignored the flicker of hurt that flashed through chocolate eyes and just as he ignored the trembling of soft pink lips. 

Oikawa would get over it. He always had, though the situations before had never been quite this intimate. Still, Hajime refused to feel bad. Because to Oikawa, it was just another hookup and Hajime was just an easy mark for garnering attention. 

And because he needed to get the _fuck_ out of that goddamn room before he did something he would regret. Or worse, saw something that cemented the rejection he wasn’t sure he could face. 

Forcing down a rapidly intensifying feeling of suffocating disappointment and heart-stopping panic, Hajime slipped out from beneath Oikawa and sped toward the kitchen, mind focused firmly on the copious bottles of alcohol he knew he’d find, and not on the brunette he refused to look back at. 

Dimly, he registered the tune still playing faintly in the background. 

_“And leave you with nothing.”_

_“And leave you with nothing.”_

  
  


\-------

  
  


_Fuck._

Hajime clutched the counter, trying to reign in his frantic breathing. 

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

How could he have been so stupid-how could he have been so _delusional_ enough to believe that Oikawa wanted him in the same way? When had he decided to abandon all concepts of logic to dive headfirst into heartbreak?

He fumbled with the cups in front of him. Some fucking night this had turned into. Images flashed before his eyes-beads of shimmering sweat-pale, slender muscles-locks of damp, toffee hair-pupils black as the night sky and blown with desire. He restrained a painful gasp. Warm, soft breath cascading over his lips-

Vodka burned its way down his throat, molten lava in his mortal body. He wanted to forget the couch-forget the whole fucking night. If Oikawa wanted to hook up with someone, he could go ahead and do just that. Hajime wouldn’t stand in his way, as desperately as he wanted to. Oikawa had every right to hook up with whoever the fuck he wanted to. He did not, however, have the right to treat Hajime as-as some sort of easy hookup, only needed to bypass the work of flirting with a stranger. 

Another shot scorched his insides, leaving a faint hum in its wake. Slowly, the voices began to fade to white noise. He reached for another. 

“Rough night?” The voice came from another man, a blonde Hajime vaguely recognized from one of his classes. He stood only a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest in a stance matched perfectly by the sharp grin that sliced through his features. He kicked off the wall and sauntered closer. 

“Something like that.” Hajime eyed him warily. He wasn’t in the mood for this, not tonight. Not when he knew every kiss would be lacking, every touch compared to another’s. Still, he played along politely. “Have we met?”

The grin wided. Hajime couldn’t but feel his caution grow with it. “Not formally.” Narrow, green eyes laughed at him. They were the wrong color. “I think we both had Professor Douglass last semester.” 

Hajime nodded, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. He didn’t. Instead, he slithered closer, one hand sliding next to Hajime’s on the counter. His shirt smelled of beer and cologne. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to talk to you,” a pink tongue darted out to wet dry lips, “I wanted to approach you earlier but…” He leaned closer, eyes dark and daring. “I saw you with that man and I wasn’t sure…”

The question was there, open and inviting even in the stifling kitchen. At the mention of Oikawa, Hajime felt his cheeks burn. Because of course Oikawa would invade even this aspect of his life. He felt his expression darken. “We aren’t together.”

It was the right answer. Or perhaps the wrong one. Because suddenly rough lips were on him and he wasn’t pulling away. 

It wasn’t what he wanted. He was aware enough of himself to know that. But if he closed his eyes, he could almost believe the hands on his hips were not unknown to him, and instead were the hands of a setter, long and slender and so familiar. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he thought only of warm brown eyes. The kiss deepened, hot and fake with false passion. 

Somewhere beyond the chaos of his mind, he registered glass smashing. It ricocheted off the walls, loud enough to wrench him from his thoughts. Ignoring hungry green eyes, he peeled himself away and turned to find the source of the noise. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t.

Oikawa stood in the doorway, his mouth a plastic smile. Glass fragments littered the ground at his feet, shining red under led lights. Something glinted in brown eyes, hard and sharp. Hajime glared right back. He could read between the lines. More importantly, he could read between Oikawa’s bullshit. This had been no accident. The challenge in Oikawa’s gaze was evidence enough. 

“Iwa-Chan.” Too loud, too steady, too laced with poison. “I didn’t know you were into blondes.” Brown eyes clashed with green. “Especially ugly ones.” The blonde in question snorted.

Hajime gritted his teeth. What the fuck was Oikawa playing at? They didn’t need to dance around the subject-It was obvious he was pissed, though for what reason Hajime had no idea. It wasn’t like he hadn’t rejected Oikawa’s lazy advances before. He dug his nails into his fist, dread lingering in the back of his mind. Maybe Oikawa had finally discovered how he felt. “Spit it out Shittykawa. What the fuck do you want?” He expected a pout, or some half-assed plea for attention. Or worse: disgust. 

What he didn’t expect was the hurt, raw and wet, that flashed across his best friend’s face. It was gone before he could blink, replaced by the thin mask of disinterest Hajime had seen more times than he cared to remember. A smirk pulled itself painfully onto his face, its effect ruined only by the almost unnoticeable wobble of his bottom lip. “Nothing Iwa-Chan.” He glanced between them, his sneer more of a frown now. “Have fun.” Snatching a full cup off of the counter, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. 

“Oh for _fucks_ sake-” Hajime lunged forward to grab him, “Oikawa-” glass crackled beneath his shoes, crumbling into smaller pieces and scattering further into the kitchen. He cursed, reaching down to pick up the larger bits. Fucking Oikawa, always leaving Hajime to clean up his messes. He’d have to track him down later to figure out what the fuck was going on. Something must have happened. Perhaps he’d been rejected by another party-goer? Or maybe his knee was acting up-

“Ahem.” Hajime jolted as hands wove their way through his hair. The fuck? Blinking, he looked up. Immediately, he bit back a groan. He’d forgotten about the blonde. “You don’t need to clean all this up.” Amusement shined down on him, mocking and playful and fucking annoying. “Don’t you wanna get back to what we were doing.” he tugged Hajime’s head closer to his crotch, “Or maybe something else just as fun?”

This little _shit._

Hajime felt his eyes narrow. “Look, I don’t know who the _fuck_ you-”

“Oh my God Mattsun, shield me!” Hajime whipped around to find Makki draped across Mattsun in the doorway, hands covering his face dramatically. “Protect me from this sight!” He cried, “Spare me from bearing witness to Iwaizumi’s _first_ sexual experience!”

Barely containing an eye roll, Hajime shoved away from the blonde and rose to his feet. “Hey Mattsun,” he growled, “you wanna _bear witness_ to Makki’s _first_ experience with my foot up his ass?”

Makki, the fucker, only winked cheekily. “Ooh _Iwa-Chan_ , how’d you know I like it rough?” His giggles descended into hysteria as Hajime shot him a middle finger. “Such long fingers you have!”

Mattsun studied their exchange blankly, one hand positioned comfortably on Makki’s waist. He brought a lit blunt up to his lips. “So,” he inhaled deeply, “what the fuck happened with Oikawa?” Smoke drifted lazily out of his mouth in a soft stream of white. 

Hajime stiffened. How did they know about that? He felt his cheeks burn. Had everyone seen them- _him_ -on the couch? “What do you mean?”

Makki wrapped both arms around Mattsun’s hips, nuzzling into the taller man’s shoulder with a dazed look. “Oh calm down,” he frowned minutely at Hajime, “we saw ‘Ole Perfect Hair’ storm out of here with that ‘Iwa-Chan hurt my feelings but I’m gonna pretend like he didn’t’ expression plastered on his face. He threw back at least three shots before Ushijima offered him some water and he ran away.” 

Mattsun took another hit. “Four shots.” 

Hajime sighed. So it was worse than he had thought. Fucking hell. “Lemme guess, you think I should go and do some damage control?” 

A sultry voice whispered from behind him. “I don’t think you should go.” All three of them turned to stare at the blonde man, who for some fucking reason, had yet to take a hint. 

Hajime was more than willing to spell it out for him. “No one here is going to fuck you, so why don’t you do us all a favor and go fuck yourself?” He ignored the man’s flustered response and faced his friends. “I’ll go and find him after I clean up this fucking mess.” He gestured toward the glass still littering the tiles. 

“Nah.” Mattsun grinned. “You go ahead, we’ll take care of it.” Beside him, Makki nodded devilishly. Hajime narrowed his eyes. Well _that_ was out of character. 

“Um.” He’d never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth but- “Why? What the fuck are you two planning?”

Mattsun took another drag at the blunt, black eyes mischievous. “Relax. I just think Oikawa is a little too off-the-rails tonight, even for him. Besides,” His gaze traveled down the length of Makki’s body. “I wouldn’t mind watching Makki clean for me.”

_Ew_. Hajime barely restrained his shudder. “Ok well that’s fucking disgusting, but thanks.” 

Without a second glance, he hurried out of the room, silently mourning the fact that he did escape in time to miss Makki murmur, “Mattsun, I think we need to invest in a maid outfit.”

  
  


\-------

  
  


Hajime found the living room in a worse state of array than he left it, if that were possible. 

A fine layer of popcorn coated the floor, trampled into a disgusting carpet of mashed kernels and spilled beer beer. Rancid sweat poisoned the air, mixing horrifically with the scent of smoke. Even the heat had somehow intensified, a feat Hajime would have previously deemed impossible. Across the room, Tendou had finally seized control of the aux and was excitedly blasting electronic hyperpop next to a suspiciously happy Ushijima. 

Kuroo’s situation, Hajime noted faintly, had actually improved significantly. Kenma now sat in the taller boy’s lap, knees on either side of his hips, face tucked neatly into his chest. Kuroo looked appropriately ecstatic. His arms had found their way around Kenma’s waist, slender fingers reaching up to play idly with bleached locks. The image was disgustingly adorable and Hajime quickly turned away after sending Yachi and Kyoko-who now took up the other end of the couch-a friendly wave. 

Through a haze of flashing lights, he managed to catch a glimpse of orange hair and veered toward it. “Hinata!”

The blob of orange whipped around frantically, face flushed. Behind him, Hajime could make out an even more flustered Kageyama. Both of them were sporting swollen lips. “Oh,” Hinata squeaked, “hello! We were just… Um.” He squirmed helplessly. 

“Competing?” Hajime offered. Because he wasn’t a complete asshole. 

The two nodded furiously. “Yep. That’s what it was. Mhm.” Hinata bounced on his heels. 

“Right. Well, have either of you seen Oikawa anywhere?” They shook their heads. Somehow, Hajime wasn’t surprised. 

“He might be in the bathroom.” Kageyama mumbled. “You could check there.”

“Alright yeah I think I’ll do that. Thanks. I’ll leave you to your…” he gestured awkwardly between them, “competition. Good luck.” 

Hinata grinned fiercely. “He’ll need all the luck he can get to beat me!” Beside him, Kageyama glowered. 

“We’ll see about that dumbass!” 

Chuckling lightly, Hajime headed for the bathroom. As shitty as Oikawa could be, he had an undeniable skill for pinpointing the things in life that made people happy. While he didn’t always do it for selfless reasons, he never failed to use that talent to improve others. It was surprisingly kind. The ways in which he went about “helping” people, however, had Hajime growing gray hairs. 

Slowly, Hajime made his way across the room, weaving through bodies composed of heat and sweat. The atmosphere had become heavier, thick with the promise of an unforgettable night. The door to the bathroom was ajar when he reached it, revealing a thin sliver of dim yellow light. Hajime knocked lightly. “Oikawa? Anybody in there?” he called, knowing damn well how stupid it was to even attempt a knock when electronic pop was breaking eardrums throughout the apartment. “I’m coming in!” Cautiously, he pushed into the room. 

Well, _fuck._

Oikawa was not in the bathroom. That much Hajime knew for sure. Kyoutani, however, was in the bathroom. As was Yahaba. And as was Hajime, though he suddenly _desperately_ wished he wasn’t. They had yet to notice his presence, thank fuck, and Hajime could easily understand why. Yahaba sat perched on the edge of the counter, long legs wrapped around Kyoutani, fingers gripping bleached hair. The shorter boy stood against the sink, head angled slightly upward. His hands had found their way to Yahaba’s waist and clutched roughly at his shirt. They moved fiercely, mouths meeting almost aggressively under the dim lights. 

It was a sight Hajime had never thought he would see, and one he wished he could block from memory. Face blazing, he fled, careful to close the door firmly behind him. Fucking Oikawa and his powers of prediction. 

He emerged from the bathroom into a world of chaos. Voices now dominated the already deafening music, a mixture of hushed whispers and flickering laughter. Figures loomed before him, eyes turned toward the center of the room with varying expressions of intrigue and confusion. Hajime pushed toward a familiar face. “Tanaka.” The man in question waved him over with a wild grin. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Oh my God I can’t believe you missed it!” He cackled, stumbling enough to spill some of his drink. “Tsukkishima just fucking obliterated this random dude. I think he was like harassing Yamaguchi or something. Anyway, it was fucking _majestic,_ holy shit. The guy flew like five feet!” He began demonstrating the move, throwing his fist dramatically through the air with a laugh. Hajime awarded him with an amused thumbs up. Through the mess of faces, he spotted a flustered Yamaguchi tucked under the arm of a furious blonde. “ _Fuck,_ I have to tell Noya! I’ll see ya around!” He staggered away into the crowd, leaving Hajime mildly more entertained, but still Oikawa-less. 

Hajime surveyed the room. Smiles of all degrees mocked him from every angle, some more genuine than others. Not a single one belonged to toffee hair and dancing brown eyes. He frowned. If he were an emotional dumbass, where would he be? 

A flash of silver caught his attention from beside the TV and he breathed a sigh of relief. Sugawara and Sawamura tended to hold their liquor pretty well-at least Sawamura did. They were sure to have seen Oikawa at some point. 

He headed over, wincing when he accidentally jostled Bokuto, whose tongue had found a new home down Akaashi’s throat. The grey haired man whipped around, a blinding grin stretched across his swollen lips. His arms remained firmly around Akaashi’s waist, hands woven gently in his shirt. “Iwaizumi!” He bellowed. “He said yes!” 

Hajime shot him an encouraging thumbs up before slipping back into the chaos of the party. Some fucking night. He tried unsuccessfully to ignore the bitterness growing steadily in his heart. It seemed rather cruel to be the only one of his friends leaving this night with even less than he came with. 

“Iwaizumi!” Sawamura called as he got closer. “What’s up?” He smiled self-consciously as Sugawara peppered kisses against his jaw. The silver haired man darted a tongue out to lick his rapidly intensifying blush, arms snaking lazily around his neck to lock him in place and effectively ruin all attempts to escape. 

Hajime kept his eyes firmly on the plant behind them. “Have either of you seen Oikawa? He stormed out of the kitchen a while ago and I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Oh,” Sawamura winced as Sugawara nipped lightly at his neck, “uh I think I saw him head upstairs with some guy a few minutes ago?” He frowned, eyes drenched with pity, probably sensing the pit that had just opened in Hajime’s stomach. He added, “He didn’t look all that excited though.”

Hajime nodded before turning away. Wonderful. Absolutely fucking wonderful. He’d spent the last hour ransacking this goddamn apartment in search of a person who was probably upstairs fucking someone else. What a fun night. 

Fury burning holes in his veins, he stomped up the stairs. If Oikawa wanted to fuck someone else, fine. Fucking fine. He could be okay with that. What he couldn’t be okay with was wasting half his night hunting for his supposedly “emotionally unstable” best friend, who, rather than explain himself like a normal person, insisted on storming away like a goddamn child. 

He veered left at the top of the stairs, emerging into a dull hallway complete with three doors, dim yellow lights, and-

He gritted his teeth. Oikawa stood in the far corner, back slouched lazily against the wall. Above him loomed a mass of black hair and tan skin. Heavy, unkind kisses connected them. Hajime watched bitterly as one hand groped roughly at Oikawa’s ass. His eyes traveled up, halting on the thick fingers wrapped tightly around Oikawa’s pale neck. Dimly, he registered his vision turning red. Fuck this. 

Before he could stop himself, he was five steps closer, fists clenched in the stranger’s shirt. The man huffed, eyes squinting in the yellow lights, “Hey dude what the _fuck_ -” Hajime wrenched him off of Oikawa, ignoring the resulting yell of protest. In an astounding display of self control, he managed to withhold from beating the living shit out of the other man, instead opting to throw him unceremoniously in the direction of the stairs. 

Silently, he snatched Oikawa’s wrist and dragged him into the nearest bedroom, making sure to lock the door behind them. The last thing he needed was someone walking in to give Oikawa an excuse to escape. This conversation was too long overdue. Glare dripping with fury, he turned back toward the brunette. 

Oikawa said nothing, dark eyes trained unflinchingly on Hajime’s. They screamed a challenge. “Iwa-Chan.” A smile, thin and vicious. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Oikawa,” he warned, “don’t fucking play games. You know why I’m here.”

“No,” his voice dripped with annoyance, “I don’t think I do. You’ll have to enlighten me.”

Hajime bit the inside of his cheek. Lies. Always fucking lies. “Don’t be like that, I’m trying to help you-”

“He- _Help_ me?” Oikawa laughed humorlessly. “Well, you could have fooled me Iwa-Chan! I knew you could be cruel, but that was one hell of a way to let me down ‘easy’.” 

_What?_

Hajime paused, head spinning. _‘Let him down easy?’_ He frowned, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Oikawa sneered, “It doesn’t matter. You made that _abundantly_ clear.”

_What the hell was he talking about?_

“Um.” he struggled to keep up, anger quickly being replaced by confusion. “It fucking _does_ matter-”

Oikawa growled, “No _Iwa-Chan_ , it really doesn’t.” he bit out, “I know you’re just trying to be a good friend or some shit, but for the love of God, stop. Please. I got the message. I’d rather just forget about the whole thing.” He released a shaky breath, eyes refusing to meet Hajime’s. 

And suddenly, Hajime realized two things:

  1. He was quite possibly the stupidest person on the planet.
  2. You can never know everything about a person, even when you’ve existed beside them for more than a decade. 



He spoke softly, “Oikawa.”

His voice went unnoticed. Oikawa was trembling now, his ramblings growing more and more frantic. “You don’t have to worry about me Iwa-Chan. It’s not going to be a problem-”

“Oikawa.” He stepped closer, only a foot stood between them now. 

“Just forget about it, honestly. Let’s just go back to how it was. I’ll-I’ll stop acting like that with you and you can just-you can just do whatever you want with whoever-”

“Tooru.” Oikawa flinched, his mouth shutting tightly into a taut line. Silence overtook them. He refused to look at Hajime. 

Slowly, carefully, Hajime brought his hand up to Oikawa’s face. He paused, only for a moment, giving him time to pull away. Ever so gently, he tilted the younger man’s face downward, gaze seeking eyes so familiar they could have been his own. “Are you saying that you want…” he swallowed, shoving away lingering fears of vulnerability, “more? With me?” His thumb traced small circles over soft, blushing skin. “More than just… hookups?”

Oikawa stared back with wide eyes, a deer caught in the headlights of Hajime’s gaze. Hesitantly, so minutely that Hajime almost didn’t recognize the action, he nodded. Hajime bit back a victory grin. His heart screamed inside his chest. 

For the first time in his 20 years of life, Hajime allowed his gaze to fall guilt free on Oikawa’s mouth. Pink lips looked back at him, soft as ever, shining even under the weak lights. He brought his forehead to Oikawa’s, breathing in his scent. Mint. Fresh Cologne. Home. A small gasp escaped between them, deafening even amidst the faint hum of music. Hajime shuddered. He could get used to that. “Can I…?” He found himself staring once again into brown eyes, his skin brushing against long black lashes. Black pupils stared back, blown with swirling heat. 

“Please.” Oikawa choked out, his voice desperate and strangled. It was all Hajime needed to hear before pressing himself closer. 

And finally, _finally_ , their lips met. It was sloppy and wet and absolutely fucking perfect. 

Oikawa tasted like milk bread. 

Hajime pulled him closer, one hand gripping roughly at Oikawa’s waist, the other tugging gently at soft brown strands. Hajime silently sent his thanks to the manufacturers of Oikawa’s favorite shampoo. Fingers slid beneath his shirt, dancing across his bare back. They weren’t enough. He tilted his head for better access, barely restraining a moan as Oikawa’s tongue licked into his mouth. _Fuck_. How had he ever lived without this? Hips stuttered against each other, hands grappled for exposed skin. Gasping, they stumbled backwards to the bed, lips hungrily fighting to stay together. 

Oikawa hit the bed first, tugging Hajime down to lean over him. They broke apart, saliva stretching between swollen lips. Hajime panted, “Fuck,” he stared, unable to look away from the man whose smile had danced its way through his dreams and nightmares. “you’re fucking _gorgeous_ Oikawa.” Brown eyes widened, their hue darkened by desire. A fierce blush crept its way up pale cheekbones. Hajime didn’t get a chance to admire it. 

With the same hands that had brought him national recognition on the court, Oikawa grasped the front of Hajime’s shirt and wrenched him down into a kiss. This one, however, moved at a slower pace, one that arose from more than a decade of love. Hajime kissed him deeply, one hand reaching to cup a face so beloved to him he could see it with his eyes closed. His thumb brushed gently over blazing skin, pausing slightly over hot tears. Hajime pulled away. 

“Tooru.” He sighed. “Why are you crying?” 

Oikawa squirmed under his gaze, eyes shining with overflowing tears. He wailed dramatically, “I’m just so happy Iwa-Chan!” Hajime fought a grin, opting instead for an eye roll. Oikawa buried his head into Hajime’s hand, still blubbering. “This is all I ever wanted, even when we were kids, even when used to punch me for eating too much milk bread!”

Hajime frowned, though he knew it lacked its usual intensity. “I still punch you for eating too much milk bread.” he pointed out. 

Oikawa tilted back toward him, hot tears streaming down his face. “Why did you make me wait so long Iwa-Chan?” Hajime felt his heart drop. He had no good answer for that. Because it would have hurt too much to lose you? Because I thought you wanted to use me? Because I was weak?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t-I didn’t think you liked me like that. I was… scared.” 

Beneath him, Oikawa scoffed, nose scrunching up cutely. “Didn’t think I liked you like that?” he pouted, “Iwa-Chan, how dense are you? I’ve been practically throwing myself at you since high school!”

Hajime felt his cheeks burn. “Fuck off Shittykawa, I didn’t think you meant it.” 

Oikawa ignored him, an indignant frown playing at his lips, “I even serenaded you downstairs like in a goddamn rom-com! What the _fuck_ did you think that was Iwa-Chan? Karaoke night?” Hajime glared down at him. “Honestly Iwa-Chan,” Oikawa shot him a cheeky smile in response, “with brains like that, I doubt you’d survive without me.” 

For once, Hajime couldn’t bring himself to retaliate. He couldn’t even muster a frown. Not when everything he had ever wanted was lying beneath him, a goofy grin paired and matching playful eyes. 

He opted instead to press a kiss against Oikawa’s lips. “You’re right,” the smile widened, “I’d die without you.”

The downpour of tears made a sudden and unsurprising comeback. “Iwa-Chan!” Oikawa sobbed, hands still clenched tightly in the front of Hajime’s shirt, “Who knew you were such a romantic!” This time Hajime could not stop himself from landing a fierce flick to Oikawa’s forehead, though he followed it up immediately with a soft kiss. Always a drama queen, Oikawa squawked indignantly, a sound swallowed almost entirely by Hajime next kiss. 

Somewhere across the room, the door handle rattled. A pause. Muffled voices. Another rattle. “Oikawa I swear to _God_ , if you are fucking someone in my bed I will _personally_ pay Iwaizumi to hold you down as I take my goddamn time shaving off every lock of your precious fucking hair!” Makki screeched from beyond the wooden frame. 

Hajime snorted, breaking away from Oikawa as they both began shaking with barely suppressed laughter. “ _IWAIZUMI?”_ Makki demanded incredulously. “You fucker!” he slammed on the door, “Stop!” bang, “Fucking!” bang, “On our bed!” bang. Another voice drifted through the crack in the door, deeper than Makki’s, followed closely by a horrified gasp. “Mattsun! It is not ‘kinda hot’! Shut up!” 

Hajime cackled louder. “Relax. We aren’t having sex.” Outside the room, Makki breathed a dramatic sigh of relief. Oikawa snickered devilishly. 

“Not yet, anyway.” he tugged Hajime back down for another kiss. 

“Wha-OIKAWA!” the door shook dangerously, “IWAIZUMI, don’t you fucking dare! We are happy for you two, but not this fucking happy!” 

His words fell on deaf ears, drifting soundlessly through Hajime’s mind like soft summer winds. He had better things to worry about. Like kissing the man he was completely, desperately, in love with. 

Not bad for a night at Makki and Mattsun’s. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Yay I love them. 
> 
> If you read all of that, bless your soul!! I hope you liked it. If not, don't worry, I kind of don't either.


End file.
